


For your pizza craves

by harin91



Series: Italian!Joe AU [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Ben is also half-Italian but only because I needed to give Joe a bff, Italian Character(s), Italian!Joe AU, M/M, PIZZA DELIVERY BOY, Pizza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 09:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harin91/pseuds/harin91
Summary: An Italian guy living abroad needs his favourite food. And also a boyfriend (and a new best friend).





	For your pizza craves

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't receive a direct request, but some liked my other fic ['The Italian Job'](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011027) and said they would like to read more about Italian!Joe so I thought I'd write something with a bit more AU elements.  
> In this he's 100% Italian, around 21 years old and studying abroad in LA. I also added Ben's character because I needed to give Joe a best friend, so he's at least half-Italian half-British in this.
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> Of course it’s just for fun and fandom, I’m in no way claiming this to be anywhere close to reality.  
>  **Not beta-readed** and **English is not my first language**.
> 
> See at the end for more notes.

By the end of his third month in Los Angeles Joe was starting to miss home, his mom and, most of all, his mom’s food so terribly he thought he might go crazy.

The US were a wonderful place to be for a film student who had to spend one year abroad, deciding UCLA was the best place his scholarship could take him, but he had known from the very beginning that they were also one of the least recommended countries for an Italian guy who had lived off of nonna’s homemade lasagne and mamma’s perfect pasta alla carbonara all his life.

After finally moving to live off campus (but in a crowded all-male share-house), with his only sustenance being a stack of instant noodles and a housemate’s suspiciously looking ‘West Coast’s best peanut butter sandwich’, he had started dreaming about Italian food so intensely he sometimes woke up from midday naps discovering he had drooled all over his pillow.

Which was definitely embarrassing and, most importantly, depressing.

 

He had been so out-of-his-mind driven insane by the lack of good food that when, while walking to class one afternoon, he had found a flyer with an Italian flag on it claiming their restaurant delivered the ‘best pizza in LA!’ he had instantly snatched it from the campus’s board and hid it in his bag.

 

Only to be found two days later, as he was looking for his one good pair of earbuds.

“ _Non fidarti di quella roba_ ” (don’t trust that thing) had said his best friend and trustworthy camera operator Ben from his spot on Joe’s bed, as soon as he discovered the other eyeing the flyer with transfixed attention: “ _Al primo appuntamento con Mandy l’ho portata in uno di quei cosi, ‘cucina tipica italiana’ scritto ovunque eccetera, e alla fine siamo stati male tutti e due._ ” (On the first date with Mandy I took her to one of those, ‘authentic Italian cuisine’ written all over the place and such, at the end of the evening we both felt sick)

“ _Non dare la colpa al ristorante se sei negato con le ragazze._ ” (It’s not the restaurant’s fault if you’re a fail with girls) snickered Joe, showing the flyer to Ben: “ _Davvero non ti va una pizza?_ ” (You sure you don’t want pizza?)

“ _Gio, avanti…_ ” (Gio, c’mon) sighed Ben, dramatically: “ _Quale essere umano direbbe mai di no ad una pizza, in qualsiasi circostanza?_ ” (What kind of human being would ever say no to pizza, whatever the circumstances?) he asked rhetorically, gesturing wildly with his hands in mid air, as he was sprawled on his best friend’s bed: “Solo che ci vuole criterio. Mangiare pizze disgustose preparate da ignoranti profanatori della nostra cultura è tanto indecoroso quanto non mangiarle affatto.” (The thing is, it takes judgement. To eat disgusting pizzas prepared by ignorant desecrators of our culture is as undignified as not eating them at all) he explained.

Joe, while listening half-heartedly to Ben’s wordy lucubrations, had already extracted his phone and dialed the number of the pizza place, rolling his chair over to the bed to press the flyer on Ben’s forehead: “ _Quale prendi?_ ” (What’s your order?) he asked, completely ignoring the other’s sputtering and flailing in favour of hitting the call button.

In the end they both got a margherita (which, according to Ben, was the best choice to test a new place since it was the simplest and most traditional pizza ever) and were instructed to wait about 20 minutes for delivery.

 

As in the meantime they found distraction from growing hunger in watching funny videos on YouTube, when the doorbell rang it took a while for Joe to realize they were (miraculously) alone in the house and it was probably the pizza delivery guy.

In a rush to get to the door, he forgot to retrieve his wallet from his school backpack and, most importantly, that he was in no conditions whatsoever to show himself in front of a stranger.

He hadn’t showered in the past two days (the only bathroom in the house was always occupied and he couldn’t bother to queue outside or to waste precious time he preferred to spend actively procrastinating with Ben), he was wearing shorts that he could _swear_ were shorts but looked just like oversized boxers and sported a funny t-shirt of an Italian famous Facebook page called ‘ _Feudalesimo e Libertà_ ’ (Feudalism and Freedom) which featured a ‘ _in omina pericula tasta testicula_ ’ joke that was completely inapropriate for whoever understood the ‘language’. He smelled bad, had hair in every direction and hadn’t shaved in a while, but right until that very moment he couldn’t care less.

 

He instantly regretted not caring when he opened the door and his heart skipped a beat: right in front of his eyes stood the most breathtakingly gorgeous human being in existence.

Which probably was an exaggeration he could attribute to his tired, sleep-deprived mind except the pizza delivery guy had striking greyish-blue-green eyes and that somehow seemed to validate his frantic thoughts. He was dressed in a simple polo-and-jeans combination that was probably the job’s uniform and had soft-looking dark chocolate curly hair cut very short on the sides.

He wore a lazy, cat-like smile on his thin lips and looked absolutely unfazed at the display of undress, neglected personal hygiene and confusion right in front of him.

“Hi. Joe?” he asked and associating such a deep and warm voice to such a pretty face made Joe’s heart skip another two or three beats (at this point he was probably straight flat-lining, but was still standing up and formulating thoughts - although incoherent - in the attempt of maintaining the last bit of dignity he had left. It must have been an unconscious reflex).

The stranger, perplexed by his lack of response, tried again to shake him out of his inexplicable stupor: “Two margheritas?” he asked again.

 _Nessuno è perfetto_ thought Joe, as he considered the awful American accent with which the delivery guy had pronounced ‘margheritas’ (with an ‘s’ at the end, too! That was just disgraceful!) and he came slightly back to his senses at that, realizing suddenly he had to get the pizza boxes from the guy’s hands and pay him.

“Oh, right! Oh, wait I forgot…” he exclaimed, looking back inside the house and then turning again to address the poor, confused delivery man: “I forgot my wallet. Can you wait 5 seconds?” he asked, noticing how even looking directly into the guy’s big ocean eyes made him faltering.

“No problem…” said the other. Joe almost closed the door in his face as he rushed back inside his room to get the money.

“ _Dove sono le pizze?_ ” (Where’s pizza?) asked Ben immediately, from the very same spot and position on the bed where he had left him. Joe didn’t reply as he tossed his backpack on his bed (and consequently on Ben) and rummaged inside to get his wallet.

“ _Ohi, quanta fretta!_ ” (What’s the rush!) exclaimed his best friend, kicking him in the side to signal his distress at being assaulted with an heavy bag.

“ _Il tipo delle pizze è figo da morire._ ” (the pizza guy is drop-dead hot) was his only coherent thought and reply at the moment, which made Ben joilt up and join him as he rushed back to the entrance, wallet in his hand.

Before Joe could open the door again, Ben peered outside of the kitchen window and made an appreciative gesture combined with an exaggerated surprised expression: “ _Tanta roba._ ” he agreed: “ _Chiedigli il numero._ ” (Ask for his number) he added.

“ _Cosa? No! Sei pazzo?_ ” (What? No! Are you crazy?) sputtered Joe with a disbelieving expression. Ben shrugged.

Not wanting to waste any more of the poor guy’s time, Joe opened the door and tried to appear as a functional young adult engaging in a regular conversation with a stranger.

 

His attempt failed when, as he was paying for the pizzas and adding a plenty tip for the handsome delivery boy, Ben opened the door some more to appear by his side on the doorway and announce: “Hi! My mate thinks you’re hot.” with a contrasting innocent smile.

The pizza delivery boy recoiled and blushed profusely, looking at the two of them in disbelief.

“T-thanks?” he stuttered.

Joe considered his options: run away and never look back, kill Ben on the spot and then kill himself or laugh a high-pitched nervous laugh and burn in shame for the rest of his days.

The nervous laugh resounded so loud in the sudden silence they created that he thought about giving one of other two options a shot.

Ben, oblivious of Joe’s internal crisis, went on: “You’re welcome. My name’s Ben and he’s Gio.”

“Rami.” said the delivery boy, introducing himself with a still uncertain little smile.

“Would you mind going out on a date with him perhaps? Say, this Friday?” proposed Ben and all of sudden Joe squeaked and tried to pry Ben’s hands from the door and push him aside, all the while insulting him and treating him in high-pitched Italian.

After a well-placed back-kick Joe was able to prevail on his best friend and get back to Rami, apologizing profusely for the scene and for what Ben said.

Rami laughed sincerely (making Joe shut up immediately and swoon over how cute the other’s laugh was) and said: “Don’t worry. I actually wouldn’t mind.”

“What?” asked Joe, dumbly.

“Going out. Friday.” explained Rami, his expression soft and earnest: “If that wasn’t just your friend being a jerk.”

“Oh, no he wasn’t! I mean he is, but I _do_ think you’re ho- wait, no I mean… yes, yes I do find you hot. But not as a bad thing li-”

“It’s okay, I think you’re hot too. And cute. Friday?” cut him short Rami, now completely comfortable with the conversation and amused by Joe’s lack of filter.

“Friday.” whispered Joe like it was a secret.

After that he just kept smiling idiotically, paid for the by then half-cold pizzas, said bye to Rami and closed the door very slowly so he could watch his future date head back to his parked car.

“ _Tutto molto bello, ma gli hai chiesto il numero?_ ” (That’s great and all, but have you asked for his number?) said Ben as soon as he reappeared in Joe’s field of view.

Joe almost dropped the pizza boxes on the floor.

 

They figured the only way they had to get Rami’s number was call once again for pizza delivery and inquire about the cute driver and that was basically how they found themselves with another order of pizzas coming their way.

Not to mention, those pizzas were absolutely disgusting. But Rami was worth his delicate Italian papillas’ deterioration.

He was so worth it.

 

\---

 

I had a bit of a problem with Joe's name and nickname. In Italian Joseph translates to 'Giuseppe' and the nickname we use is 'Beppe' or other variations. But I wanted to maintain his name, so I decided to call him 'Gio' (which has the same exact sound as Joe) but which is the shortened version of Giovanni (John). Ben knows his real name so he calls him correctly, while everyone else (Rami included) write it as they hear it, so 'Joe'.  
(Yes I'm weird)  
  
Some of the Italian I didn't already translate:  
_In omina pericula tasta testicula_ = this is not Italian, it's bastardized Latin. It a [real t-shirt](https://feudalesimoeliberta.com/vestiario/15-236-tasta-testicula-uomo.html) you can buy from Feudalesimo e Libertà's website and it basically means 'in any dangerous situation, touch your balls' (as you can see from the image). Touching balls is a superstitious gesture in Italian culture (yep, still weird). The only reason why I've decided Joe was wearing this t-shirt was because when I was plotting this fic I was on the train and there was a guy wearing it.  
_Nessuno è perfetto_ = nobody's perfect  
_Tanta roba_ = literally 'a lot of stuff', it's slang to say that someone is a lot (a lot hot, usually)

Last but not least, I've opened my ask box on Tumblr and I'm [accepting small prompts](http://brightly-painted-canvas.tumblr.com/post/183742491163/accepting-tiny-prompts) for drabbles and doodles, including mazlek ones :D


End file.
